and i'm home
by turnback
Summary: —Fudou comes and goes as he pleases, but Kidou doesn't really mind. Not at all. 7YL, fudou/kidou, oneshot.


notes: set somewhere in the InaGO timeverse? probably about 7YL from the original.

_edited 13/7/12, with help from _Zonex Krypton_!_

* * *

**and I'm home**

* * *

i.

The phone rings five times before Kidou decides to answer it. It's not that he doesn't want to answer it (actually, it is, but he doesn't want to come off as rude), it's because he's in the middle of making spaghetti for his lunch. The sauce is bubbling and he turns it on a low heat in the pan and leaves it to simmer before giving it a final stir. He wipes his hands on his jeans, as you do when you don't own an apron, and runs a hand through his dreadlocks.

It's been a long time since he's outgrown that ponytail of his, and those signature goggles too. He's opted for green tinted glasses instead; they're classier than goggles, and truthfully, his eyesight is fine so they're just for show.

The phone's vibrating so violently now that it shakes and threatens to fall off the receiver pinned to the wall and he sighs and reminds himself to buy a new one as he picks it up.

"Hello, this is Kidou Yuuto speaking."

_No, that's stupid, _he thinks. They're calling his apartment – who else would they expect to pick up? He coughs awkwardly and says _hello_ again, this time without the self-introduction.

"Hello," says the person down the line.

The voice seems familiar to Kidou. It's a sort of smooth, sort of manipulative voice, and it's the sort of voice where 'thank you' and 'do you want to have sex' carry the same tone, and it gives Kidou a slight inkling as to who it is, but he can't quite put his finger on it.

"Hi," says Kidou.

"Good morning," replies the person.

Kidou glances at the clock. "It's afternoon, actually," he says, returning to the cooker to stir his spaghetti sauce. The radio is playing in his kitchen by the window where he usually leaves it so it can get reception, soft music drifting through the room. He flicks the switch with his free hand, sandwiching the phone between his shoulder and ear, and suddenly, abruptly, the music stops and the static from the phone and the bubbling from the sauce is all he can hear.

The person lets out an amused laugh sound (whether it's at Kidou turning off the radio or if it's at the 'afternoon' thing, he doesn't know) and says, "I suppose it is. Good afternoon then."

"Right, yeah, good afternoon."

Wondering how long this pointless conversation was going to last, Kidou returns the phone back to his hand and spoons the sauce onto the mess of spaghetti strings resting atop the plate and pulls out a fork from the drawer, twisting it around the prongs. Thank god the cooker is near the phone though, because he's still got one of those phones with the curly plastic cord connecting the handset and the receiver, and his sauce would've been burnt if not for the ten centimetres he has to walk to reach it.

"It's been an awfully long time since I've spoken to you, Kidou-kun," says the person, "and I'm in town, you know."

He trails off there, like he's expecting Kidou to say something after that but Kidou doesn't even know who the _hell _this guy is and just says, "Oh."

Unfazed by the short reply, the person continues, "Been travelling a lot. It's expensive. Done a lot of odd jobs, here and there, and somehow, I guess I ended back here. But that's life, eh?"

"That's life," says Kidou, opening a can of beer from the fridge in hopes that it'll make his headache leave.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" It's that laugh again and Kidou swears he's heard it somewhere before. "Care to venture a guess?"

Teasing. That's what the guy is doing. He's _teasing _Kidou and Kidou furrows his brow, leaving a dent in the beer can where he crushed it under his grasp. "I don't have time to play games. I'm busy," he snaps.

"Still a spoilsport, I see," laughs the person, that _goddamn _laugh and _holy fuck_, Kidou _does _know who he is. He grabs the phone with both hands as if it'll disappear from his grasp (drops the beer can, drops his priorities, drops all his coherent thoughts) and swallows, gripping the phone so hard that his knuckles turn white but he's been taught to deal with things in a calm and rational way and takes a deep breath to regain his composure.

"Fudou," he says.

"Me," Fudou says.

"_You,"_ says Kidou and digs his fork into the mountain of yellow and red and doesn't really know what to do after that, so he picks it back up and twirls it around, watching the strings wrap themselves around the silverware like a cocoon.

"Wow, rude," Fudou says, "you know my name, so why don't-"

The sound of children arguing in the background interrupts him and Fudou groans in exasperation. Kidou can make out snatches of the conversation – "It's _my _turn to watch the television!" and "No, hey, it's my turn today! You had the remote yesterday!" so Fudou yells at them, and then everything even more rowdy. It's hard to hear over the racket – Kidou strains his ears just to listen to Fudou as he returns to the phone. "Tch, damn kids. No point in continuing that question now, but it was a really witty comeback! Would've made you cry though because I know how sensitive you are about these things, Kidou-kun."

"Yeah," says Kidou and the fork is abandoned as he bites his lip, unsure to ask the question he wants to ask. Doesn't really know if he should ask; it's not his place to ask. He's been torn apart by a man whom he hasn't heard from in seven years in the span of two minutes, but he asks it anyway, he says, "I didn't know you had kids. When did you get married?"

It's an odd feeling because Kidou's never really had to deal with jealousy before in his life, though, he tells himself, this isn't jealousy (he's just interested in Fudou's life since he left), and he's telling himself, _wow, you've really broken since he left._

"What?" asks Fudou, like he doesn't know what Kidou's talking about _(is he playing dumb?)_, "God no, I hate kids. And no, I'm not married! Where'd you get that from? Was it Sakuma who told you that? He's lying! If he tells you that I'm freeloading off him, he's lying! I'm gonna pay him back, don't listen to him!"

Kidou wrings his hands together.

He shouldn't feel this relieved.

"So..." Everything pieces together in a matter of time and Kidou feels stupid for asking that stupid, stupid, question. "You're in town, right? Are you working at the Sun Garden with Genda?"

"Yeah. Took you some time to realise that, you frickin' genius. I'm kind of short on money at the moment, what with paying Sakuma rent and stuff. Apart from the odd brat or two, it's easy work and I get paid a lot more than I should for babysitting kids." There's a pause, and then Fudou remarks off-handedly, like a passing comment, "Do you want to... meet up?"

The spaghetti's gone cold and the door slams shut, the phone left hanging from the receiver.

* * *

ii.

Six am, and Fudou hauls himself from underneath the blanket on the bed and stumbles to the coffee machine in the kitchen and turns it on. He's missing the warmth of Kidou's body already. Long bony hands on long gangly arms rub themselves up and down each other, running against the goose bumps, and he shivers.

When the coffee is ready, Fudou realises he doesn't want coffee and opens the fridge, grabbing the bottle of iced tea clearly labelled 'Fudou's Tea'. The coffee-filled mug stays under the machine due to Fudou's laziness (someone else will clean it up – it'll be fine).The lid twists open easily and he's about to take a sip when Kidou stumbles in, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He mumbles, "'Morning."

"Good morning," says Fudou, and gestures to the coffee machine. "I made coffee for you. Consider it a thank-you for letting me stay here."

"Hm," says Kidou and cups the mug in his hands, inhaling the strong scent of coffee (decaf, instant, Kenco brand imported from England, as always. It's not _proper _coffee, per se, but hey, at least it's quick and it's the thing that pulls him through the day).

The cereal box is grabbed from the shelf and he pours two bowls with semi-skimmed milk, adding chopped bananas in one of them. He places them carefully on table, moving yesterday's newspaper onto an empty seat and takes a spoonful.

Fudou jabs the spoon into the banana like he's trying to murder it and casually comments, "You should get a new brand. _'Freshly brewed'_, they say, more like _'will taste like watery shit and will burn your tongue'."_

"I like this brand."

"I don't."

Kidou frowns, turns on the radio and eats his cereal.

* * *

The next morning, at six am sharp, Fudou drags himself out of bed and turns on the coffee machine. The Kenco is still there, but next to it is another jar, _Lavazza_. There's a Post-It note stuck on the side with _'yours' _scrawled on it in red pen and Fudou peels it off, screws it into a ball and throws it into the bin.

The label on the side is visible now and as he scans through the small font, he places a hand on his thin hips. A sign of defiance. "'_Italy's favourite'_, huh?" He pours a little into the coffee machine and replaces the cap, watching the machine buzz and rumble as it has always done in the past two years. The jar goes back to its rightful place beside the Kenco, and over the growls of the machine, Fudou says, "We'll see about that, _Lavazza._"

* * *

iii.

He's like a stray cat, thinks Kidou, and he's embarrassed to admit it, but (unlike a cat) Fudou occupies approximately _ninety percent _of his thoughts (which is lame and stupid and girly) and no matter how hard he tries, he can't stop thinking about the ex-Shin Teikoku captain. Fudou comes and goes as he pleases, but leaves the majority of his clothes and possessions at Kidou's apartment so Kidou knows he'll return. It's a sanctuary for him, Kidou knows, and he's fine with that. He's fine with a lot of shit that Fudou does and god knows why he puts up with it but he just _does_.

This time Fudou's packed a few pieces of clean underwear, a spare shirt and a spare pair of trousers – not that Kidou's keeping tabs on it, he just happens to know when he does both of their laundry.

Three days. Kidou waits for three days. He sits on the edge of his couch, gnawing at his thumb (bad habit) and flips through the channels at ten in the night, pretending to be nonchalant but the tell-tale signs are there. Then the remote breaks and he's stuck on a commercial for _Cats for You!, _and considers adopting a particularly pathetic-looking calico cat, although it looks more like a hairy mole with ears. Halfway through the cat's sob story, the lock clicks and the door opens.

Fudou drops his canvas bag on the floor in the hallway next to his scruffy trainers and heads straight for the shower. Kidou watches the rest of the show that comes after the commercial, a shoujo anime about cat girl saving the world and somehow managing to maintain her love-life at the same time. He laughs hollowly and waits for the sound of running water to stop that tells him Fudou's done.

The cat girl is cut off midway through her pep talk as the screen turns black and Kidou goes into his bedroom (walk straight, good posture, pretend nothing's wrong), slips under the covers, and pulls Fudou close to him.

"I'm not going anywhere," whispers Fudou.

Kidou knows that's not true but he accepts it anyway and murmurs _good night_ and rests his head on Fudou's soft hair.

* * *

iv.

True to his word, Fudou hasn't left for two weeks and five days. Yes, Kidou's keeping count, _do you have a problem with that, I sure hope you don't because you'll have to take it up with my lawyer, I'm sure she'll be very happy to listen to your complaints, please hold, your call is very important to us. _

(Starting to relax, starting to get comfortable. Is that a bad thing?)

Until, on the sixth day of the second week (Tuesday), when Kidou arrives home, the apartment is silent and empty and it feels cold and the loneliness seeps into his bones. His coat is hung neatly on the rack, the shoes placed together by the doormat, and he removes his glasses, folding them neatly into the case in the breast pocket of his suit. It's comforting to know that he still has some regularity in his life, a routine. It's comforting to _know_.

He thinks about calling Fudou, but doesn't want to seem needy. Is he needy? (He's a little bit needy, maybe, probably, definitely.)

In the end, he settles for washing the dishes. He scrubs each plate meticulously and then lines them up neatly in the dishwasher. He stares at them for a few seconds, then takes them out, turns on the tap and decides to rinse them himself.

Just another way to pass the time, he thinks.

_(When will he)_ washing the dishes is a really (_come back I can't) _good way to pass the (_stop worrying please be) _time (_okay)_, he thinks.

The night is uneventful, and Kidou has a restless sleep. He leaves for work in the morning, eight am, boards the train and buries his face in his hands.

* * *

v.

He reeks of alcohol. Bruises are dotted around on his body with various cuts in various places that drip _blood (red, red, red, it's so disgusting, what _have _you been doing all this time?)_.

Kidou doesn't say anything but gets out the first aid box, wipes the blood off and bandages the wounds.

"Thanks," slurs Fudou.

"No problem," says Kidou, and extends a hand to the intoxicated male. He pulls Fudou up, places a glass of tepid water between pink lips and makes him drink. They stumble off to bed together, Fudou clumsily unbuttoning Kidou's shirt along the way, and Kidou peppers Fudou's bruises with soft kisses until the dead of night.

* * *

vi.

The next day, Fudou wakes up with a pounding headache and something (possibly the overpowering smell of beer) tells him that he needs to have a shower, but kisses Kidou's forehead until he wakes up and tells him, "Sorry."

"It's _(totally not not not not not NOTNOTNOTNOTNOT) _fine," says Kidou, and falls back asleep to the sound of the leaking faucet in the bathroom.

* * *

vii.

"Did you buy this?" asks Kidou, holding up a flowery apron with _'TOP CHEF!' _printed diagonally across the chest.

"Yeah," replies Fudou, not looking up from the newspaper. Same old, same old, every day.

One eyebrow rises.

"I thought you were low on cash."

"I borrowed some of Genda's."

Both eyebrows rise.

"Did he let you?"

"I asked, and he grunted, so I took that for a yes. He's pretty much a living Neanderthal anyway; probably doesn't even know the difference between yes and no."

Kidou rolls his eyes and ties the apron string behind his back. There's an unopened pack of spaghetti at the back of his cupboard. He'll make that for lunch - that sounds good – whilst Fudou wanders into the lounge, with newspaper in hand, and sprawls on the couch, the monochrome pages resting across his abdomen.

"Can't you ever just stay in one place?" Kidou asks, shaking his head.

Fudou's answer is immediate: "Nope."

Kidou's lips quirk upwards in a smile and he sets about making lunch. He's got to live up to the title bestowed to him by the apron, after all.

* * *

viii.

August arrives quickly. Kidou decides that they both need a break - him from work, and Fudou from 'travelling', as he likes to call it. He's booked two train tickets to Okinawa; they were rather expensive (this year, Okinawa seemed like quite a popular holiday destination) but Kidou figures that it's going to be worth it. It'll be okay, he thinks, Sakuma will do fine even if he's not there because Sakuma's a responsible adult. He wishes that he could say the same thing about himself. Is thinking about someone almost _obsessively_ responsible? Allowing yourself to become so weak – is that responsible?

Or maybe he's just over-thinking things. He's got a tendency to do that (bad habit). He thinks (good job on not over-thinking things), _if you hate responsibilities so damn much, why are you staying with him, he does fuck-all to help, he just breaks me even more, pathetic_, and he takes a deep breath and he's going to stop thinking about things, _you're on holiday so act like you're on holiday, goddamn it._

* * *

Instructions to board the train boom from the speakers. Kidou drags a sleepy Fudou to their designated platform and arranges their luggage neatly on the shelves provided before making their way to their allocated seats. D-15 and D-16, the window seat being D-16. Kidou dislikes window seats. The passing scenery makes him dizzy and travel-sick and it's cold and it's just a generally unpleasant experience.

Fudou walks down the aisle first, stumbling over a few stray suitcases, to the window seat (thank god) and sits down, head dropping to one side. His breath creates patches of condensation on the window and his eyes flutter shut, catching up on his sleep.

_(Didn't come home until five am yesterday.)_

_(It's okay, though, he always comes back.)_

_(Don't know what I'd do if he didn't- don't think about that it's going to happen you just jinxed it oh you stupid stupid man.)_

There's a sudden weight on Kidou's side and he looks down to see Fudou's head resting on his shoulder. The chestnut brown hair looks temptingly soft and Kidou resists the urge to comb his fingers through it. Wonders if it smells like Fudou's cologne, wonders if it would be easy to pull and tug whilst he's moaning, _screaming_ Kidou's name, wonders if he touches it, would it fall, break, tear off?

Kidou clears his throat quietly as to not wake his companion, tells himself to stop being silly, takes out a dog-eared copy of _Fifty Shades of Grey_ and spends the rest of the journey with his nose buried in the book.

* * *

The first rain of the month comes on the third day of their holiday and it rains for the rest of it. It brings out Fudou's hayfever and worsens Kidou's and they stay in their hotel for seven days straight with a box of tissues and with all the windows shut so they're sweating like hell inside their room.

When they board the train to go home, Kidou breathes a sigh of relief and marks that as the worst holiday ever.

* * *

ix.

The blanket of red and yellow leaves cover the gravestones and the grounds of the cemetery. Today is Kageyama's death anniversary and all Kidou wants to do is blow his brains out.

There's no one at the cemetery (_don't they even care?_), save Kidou and Fudou, who's unwillingly tagged along, and it's deathly quiet (_if you'll pardon the pun_) and Kidou wants to smash his head on a tombstone and roll into a grave.

He swallows, fists clenched in his pockets. He shouldn't have come here (_bad idea – I'm a bad idea, you're a bad idea, everything is_) and he swallows down all the sorrow and guilt and longing and places a fresh bouquet of roses on the tombstone.

It's plain, the tombstone. A simple engraving of his name should not be enough, but no one cares enough to do something about it (_except me but I'm too scared to I'm scared to go near him I'm scared it's all my fault it is it is it is if I had never left him it's all my fault_). He stands, brushes the dirt off his trousers like he's got somewhere to go. For a second, his hand knocks against Fudou's bony knuckles and it sends a tingle of electricity down his spine (_I really hate this_).

_(Do you think, maybe, one day, we can hold hands?)_

Fudou pats him on the back and they go home.

* * *

x.

("I'm going to fix you, Kidou, and I'm going to fix you real good, you're never going to break again.")

* * *

xi.

Fudou comes out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes, and sits down onto the sofa next to Kidou, who's watching an old _Bugs Bunny_ rerun. He threads his fingers through Kidou's and rests his head in the crook of Kidou's neck, basking in his warmth.

"Old habits die hard," he comments nonchalantly, rubbing the torn skin of Kidou's thumb with the pad of his own.

"Hm," says Kidou, eyes stuck to the moving figure of Bugs Bunny.

Fudou smiles and they spend the rest of the afternoon together in front of the television.


End file.
